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Talk:Positive Nothingness/@comment-24894829-20160223053532
February 22nd, 2016 - I remember when I was five, and how bad of a life I was leading. I had a stepmother back then, and I had a life that revolved around her, and, no joke, she actually filed a divorce with my father over Hamburger Helper that she cooked but was burnt slightly. I think she was a bit crazy. Anyways, I lived with her, and I remember getting suspended from riding the bus because I hit a girl, for she called my family a bunch of pigs and I had been off the medication for my anger that week, because I wasn't really taken care of, so I just hit her right across the face. I remember my stepmother, who had been friends with the girl's mother, for they lived in the apartment below ours, didn't believe she had done anything, and it had been me, so she would yell at me all the time for it, and sure, I shouldn't have hit her, but I shouldn't have been skipping my medication and missing therapy appointments either. Anyways, my stepmother wouldn't ever wake up on time to get us to school, so we were late the entire week, and we were yelled at for it. Then, a year before, I had to be watched by her for a month, and I remember I got locked in the closet for hours, while getting locked in the room, whenever I got in trouble, which is a lot when you're out of your mind, and I used to just automatically go into my closet until I was about nine or so, whenever I got yelled at, because of it. But, I don't really mind anymore. I look back on it, and I don't care, I would hate if anybody else dealt with it, but I don't think it bugs me, which is weird, because the last time I really looked back on it, I broke down. I'm proud that I haven't, that I've managed to just roll through my thoughts, and I don't feel the need to cry about it anymore. Perhaps, this isn't healthy, and this isn't me getting over it, and rather me just blocking out emotions because it's late at night, but I'm proud I didn't feel pain while thinking about it this time. Instead, I thought of the pink DS my stepsister took after the divorce, or I thought of the normal Cheerios box that sat in the corner of the kitchen always, or I thought of the time I was playing hide and seek with my eyes closed and I hit my face on a wall, leading to my extremely messed up nose, or I thought of the time I shook the root beer and I destroyed the carpet when I opened it, or I thought of the time my father ripped my baby blanket and I cried, and I pinned one half of it on the wall with this drawing that I made of myself, because I figured the other me could use one. Now, I suppose, these aren't all good memories, like the ones people would normally want to think of, but to me, those that even made me cry back then, the bloody nose, the ripped blue "silk," it's my childhood, and it's just nice to think about them, because it reminds me of how damn I've gone.